“It is too bad the way he’s fallen down,” mused Robson, “and Hartley too has been a big disappointment. I tell you, Mac, you never did a better stroke of work in your life than when you got Matson from St. Louis. That fellow is the biggest sensation of the year. You notice that when he’s announced to pitch the crowds are almost as big as those who come out to see Hughson. I’ll bet,” he chuckled, “that you’re going to lose that thousand dollar bonus before the season is over. He’s already won fifteen games, and the way he is going it’s a dead cinch that he’ll get the other five.”
“I’ll be only too glad to lose it,” grinned McRae. “He’s already brought it in at the box office ten times over. You’re right when you say he’s been a mighty good investment. If we fly the flag in New York, he’ll be responsible for it.”
“It’s lucky you signed him for a three-years’ contract,” went on Robson. “If you hadn’t, every club in the league would have been offering him big money at the end of the season.”
“He won’t lose anything by it,” declared McRae, decidedly. “If he keeps up the way he has begun, I won’t hold him to the figures of his contract. He’ll get a big slice of World’s Series money, and I’ll start him off next season at figures that will make his hair curl.”
“Knock wood, Mac,” counseled Robson, nervously. “I don’t like to hear you talking yet of the World’s Series as though it were a certainty. You’re never in more danger than when you feel surest. We’re not yet out of the woods, and you know as well as I that baseball is the most uncertain game in the world.”
“You’re right, Robbie, old boy,” assented his friend. “I know that there’s always a chance of falling down. I wouldn’t talk this way with anyone but you. But on the dead level, I can’t for the life of me see how we’re going to lose unless our pitching staff goes to pieces.”
Two days later the pitching staff went to pieces.